on the right bank of the Seine. A strange building, towers and turrets soaring into the sky, it was half-fortress, half-palace with extensive gardens and orchards all enclosed by a high-bricked, crenellated wall. (A place cursed, or so Benjamin told me, for it was here two hundred years earlier that Philip IV's three daughters-in-law secretly met their lovers. I mean, it's rare enough for a princess to put the cuckold's horns on her husband but these three beauties successfully duped each of Philip's sons with their secret assignations with young knights of the court. But at last Philip found out and the princesses were bricked up in cells and allowed to starve to death; the young men were pulled apart by wild horses in the very courtyard we crossed.)
I thought of the story Benjamin had whispered to me as we followed an arrogant chamberlain into the palace proper, along silk-draped corridors to a small audience chamber where, of course, Master Lucifer himself, Monsieur Vauban, was awaiting us. He was dressed in his usual ostentatious finery: lace ruffs and cuffs, high-heeled boots, a short gown which fell to just beneath his knees, and those bloody bells which tinkled every time he moved. His hair was oiled. I am sure he had some cosmetic on his face and he reeked of perfume. Mind you, the bastard could be charming. He rose from behind his desk and clasped our hands.
'Monsieur Daunbey, Monsieur Shallot, I am so pleased. Come! Come!'
He waved us through another door, I thought we were going to see the king. Instead, he took us into a small chamber, the walls and ceiling painted completely blue and decorated with silver crescents and stars. On the small dais at the far end a veritable banquet had been laid out for us. A collation of cold meats, breasts of chicken, slices of lamb, jellies, quince tarts, and a jug of chilled white wine. Like some devil inviting us to temptation, Vauban bowed and mockingly gestured.
'Come, Messieurs, you are our guests.'
We heard a sound. I turned and froze in terror: seated in the far corner of the room was the great, black mameluke. He just squatted there on a stool and, crouching before him, their gold chains wrapped round one of his muscular hands, were those two damned cats, cool amber eyes studying us lazily.
'What's he doing here?' I whispered.
'I didn't see him,' Benjamin murmured back.
'Oh, he always sits there,' Vauban replied. 'Always in a corner just inside the door. People often walk in and scream in terror when they catch sight of him. But he's harmless enough. Where I go, Akim goes!' Vauban pointed to our sword belts. 'Messieurs, if you please, you must take those off. In the presence of the king, no one is allowed to wear arms.'
'Where is His Most Christian Majesty?' Benjamin tartly asked.
Vauban shrugged. 'In a little while, Monsieur Daunbey. Your sword belts, please.'
We had no choice but to unbuckle them. Vauban received them as carefully as a trained servant and laid them gently on a chest. Do you know, looking back, I don't think I've ever attended such a strange banquet. We sat eating and drinking only what Vauban ate and drank; that archangel of the Luciferi served us with a mocking deference; and all the time the cruel-faced mameluke and his predatory cats watched us unblinkingly. Vauban was courtesy itself.
'Will Monsieur try this dish? Master Roger, some wine?'
And all the time, on one banal subject or another.
Benjamin remained cool despite the beads of sweat on his brow and the flicker of fear in his eyes. I was terrified. Here we were in the midst of our enemies, naked to their malice, being entertained by a man who hid his ruthlessness beneath a polished veneer of courtly manners. The afternoon passed without a sign of the king though once, and I thought it may have been due to fear, I looked at the portrait hanging on the far wall and was sure I saw the eyes move. When I looked again, all I glimpsed was the glassy look of some long dead courtier framed for ever in a dusty oil painting.
'Monsieur Vauban,' Benjamin interrupted the archangel's meaningless chatter, 'we were invited here to discuss the matter of the ring. The day is passing.'
'Ah, yes, the ring.' Vauban smiled. 'You have heard the story about it?'
And, without waiting for an answer, he launched into a long, detailed story of the friendly rivalry which had existed between the two kings and how His Most Christian Majesty wished it to be returned. At last even he tired of wasting time.
'Come,' he invited. 'Let us walk in the garden.'
He led us off down a darkened passageway and I realised it was almost dusk. Behind us, padding like three figures of death, came the mameluke and the two great leopards swaying on their chains.
The gardens behind the Tour de Nesle were cool and fragrant under a red-streaked sky. Vauban took us along narrow, winding paths between raised flower beds and into a small orchard. Now, at first, I thought the pieces of cloth hanging from the trees were some subtle decoration but, on closer scrutiny, I nearly fainted with terror. The orchard was small and enclosed, the trees closely grouped together, and from the branches of many hung a number of corpses, the only consolation being that their faces were hidden beneath black, leather hoods. Vauban just ignored them and kept up his inane chatter but Benjamin stopped and stared around this small forest of the damned.
'What is this?' he whispered.
Vauban looked surprised and stared up at the trees as if he was some proud fruiterer.
'Oh, these,' he declared. 'These are the fruits, the crop of my hard work. They were members of His Most Christian Majesty's household who believed they could steal from the royal treasury or make profits by selling secrets to the agents of foreign powers.' He studied the legs of one corpse and tapped it playfully on the foot so the remains danced evilly and the branch from which they hung creaked and groaned. 'This is Reynard,' Vauban continued. 'He was a squire in the chancery and thought he would make a little profit in telling what he knew to Venetian spies.' Vauban stepped back as if expecting our applause.
I just looked away, pinching my nostrils with my fingers, for beneath the sweet smell of apple I caught the sickly stench of corruption.
'The marshal of the royal household always hangs them here,' Vauban continued. 'Anyone guilty of lese- majesty ends his time in my orchard.'
We walked on, the mameluke and his cats still padding behind. We came to the edge of the steps and stretching out below us, about a mile across, was an intricate maze.
'Do you like it?' Vauban asked. 'The hedges are of boxwood and privet. It was first laid out by Louis XI whom you English call the Spider King. Do you know the story of the maze?'
Benjamin shook his head wordlessly.
'Louis wanted to go on crusade to the Holy Land.' Vauban spread his hands. 'But you know the burdens of high office. He was unable to keep his vow, so instead he laid out this maze and every Good Friday crawled on his knees to the centre to make his devotions. Come, let me show you, then we will see the king.'
We followed him down and entered the narrow tunnels of the maze. On each side of us, the boxwood hedges stretched up about three yards high. The paths were narrow, about half a yard across, so we were forced to follow Vauban in single file. My terror increased when I heard the mameluke pad softly behind us and the purring of the great cats as they pulled at the ends of their chains. Still talking, Vauban led us round one corner after another until I had lost all sense of direction, whilst above us the sky darkened and the sun began to set. Benjamin looked around and threw one anxious glance at me. I shared his fears. We were now in the thick of Vauban's treachery.
At last we reached the centre of the maze. A small circle, the ground pebble-dashed, in the middle a simple, wooden cross and two stone benches. Vauban sat on one of these and gently wiped the sweat from his brow with the silken cuff of his sleeve. He looked up and breathed in the evening air.
'I love coming here,' he said quietly. 'Only I know the way in and the way out.'
Benjamin sat next to him whilst I stared round. There was no sign of the mameluke and his cats.
'And you don't intend us to leave, do you, Monsieur Vauban?'
The Frenchman smiled and I saw his hand go to where his dagger was hidden.
'My master wanted you to be killed immediately,' he answered, his face becoming serious. 'But you are like me, Master Daunbey. We work in the shadows of the great ones. Our game is one of luck and chance.' He rose and went to one of the entrances. 'It's all a game.' He bowed slightly. 'Bonne chance, Messieurs!’
And, before we could object or say anything, he slipped down the darkened path. I ran after him but he just disappeared. All I could hear was faint, mocking laughter and the tinkling of those bloody bells.
'Come back, Roger,' Benjamin murmured.
